Inferno

by Paul J Bennett

  Voruhn appeared beside her, working her magic to stem the pain. Natalia thought her stomach was about to explode, so intense was the feeling, and then the magic began to flow from the Orc, seeping into Natalia and giving her strength. She staggered to her feet.

  "What happened?" asked Voruhn.

  "I don't know. It felt as though my stomach was on fire." She wanted to say more, but at that precise moment, the enemy was gathering for another charge. Natalia sought out the duke, easily identifiable beneath the banner that bore his coat of arms. From her vantage point, it was a tricky shot, but she knew it was now or never. She took a breath, summoning all that remained of her reserves.

  The blast of ice that emanated from her hands was not so much a group of shards as it was a giant, single spike. It raced across the distance like a thunderbolt of the Saints, crashing into the duke and punching clean through his breastplate. For a moment, Natalia thought she had missed, but then the man swayed, leaning to the right until he finally toppled to the ground amid the carnage.

  Natalia watched, knowing she had pushed herself beyond her limits. She felt moisture pooling in the corner of her eye and wiped it, only to notice it was blood. Feeling light-headed, she staggered back, desperate to remain on her feet.

  Kargen rushed for the cover of the trees. The warbows were still doing their damage, driving the enemy archers back, but he knew they would soon return. Even as he gasped for breath, the temple footmen set about clearing the woods. These were heavily armoured warriors; they would not be so easily defeated.

  He looked across to where Shaluhk was tending to the wounded, her magic in almost continuous use. "It is time," he said.

  She finished her spell, watching as the flesh mended. The Orc warrior rose, testing his leg, then ran back to the front lines.

  "Are you sure?" she asked. "The enemy still has not committed their Temple Knights."

  Kargen stared off into the distance where the Temple Knights remained formed up behind the duke's forces, more than five hundred strong. He would have liked to wait, but the situation in the centre of the line was deteriorating rapidly. "We have little choice," he said. "It is now or never."

  Shaluhk knelt, digging deep into her repertoire of spells. Words began to tumble from her lips as the magic enveloped her. Moments later, she saw the ghostly form of Laruhk before her. "It is time," she said. "You must act now before it is too late."

  Laruhk nodded, then looked at someone out of Shaluhk's sight. She broke the spell, returning her gaze to the battle unfolding before her eyes.

  Laruhk turned to Rugg. "Are you sure this will work?"

  "The magic of the earth is not just about working stone," the shaman replied. "Now come, all is as I have foretold. It is time for us to begin." He urged his mount forward, the great beast responding instantly.

  Laruhk held his spear tightly, his legs wrapped around the beast's ribs. The line of mounted Orcs began moving as one, crossing the ground quickly, hooves thundering as they went.

  The Orc riders broke from the woods in time to see the Cunar footmen getting ready to advance. The enemy had formed up, presenting a solid wall of steel, but it made little difference to Laruhk's Orcs. He led his band straight into the enemy, the tuskers ripping through armour and tearing flesh as if they were paper.

  Laruhk fought to keep his seat. They were riding bareback, holding on by little more than the tuft of hair that ran down the creatures' backs. Stabbing out with his right hand, his spear took a man in the shoulder as his mount roared past, bowling over five more before Laruhk could even draw a breath. He caught a glimpse of Durgash, firing off a bow and wondered how his comrade was able to maintain his balance on such a wild beast.

  There were nearly two dozen tuskers, each ridden by an Orc. It had been Rugg's idea to utilize them as cavalry, and Laruhk had quickly agreed. It only took the magic of the master of earth to communicate with them, and the fearsome beasts had readily agreed. Now they tore through the enemy without so much as a blink.

  A few brave men tried to make a stand, but the thick hide of the tuskers proved immune to their weapons. They were quickly knocked aside or driven beneath the hooves of the giant beasts.

  Through the Cunar footmen they rode, doing immense damage. These men were all knights, a requirement for joining the order, but the helplessness of their position soon overwhelmed them. They broke, rushing for the safety of the woods.

  The Orc riders, now with their blood up, turned west, heading directly for the mass of troops threatening the centre.

  Athgar staggered to his feet, pulling off his helmet to wipe blood from his eyes. Looking up, he noticed a horseman bearing down on him, and he threw himself to the ground just as the hooves thundered past. The horse slowed, and the rider turning in place, his sword already bloodied. Athgar stared, stunned to see Sir Raynald, but the duke's man didn't recognize him beneath the mud and blood.

  "Stand down," he roared.

  Sir Raynald halted his advance. "Athgar? Is that you? What are you doing here?"

  "These are my people," he replied, "and I will fight to the end to save them."

  "They are death worshippers," insisted the knight, "and must be destroyed."

  "No!" Athgar shouted. "They are people, just like you. You've been lied to, Raynald, as has everyone else. These are not worshippers of death! They never have been. Put down your weapons, and let us end this."

  Sir Raynald raised his sword. "I'm afraid I can't do that, my friend. I have given my oath to the duke. To surrender now would be to face dishonour."

  "Then I'm afraid I shall have to kill you."

  Sir Raynald saluted Athgar with his sword. "So be it. Let us fight to the death." He lowered his visor and kicked back on his spurs, charging forward with his sword extended.

  Athgar called forth a blast of fire that smashed into the knight's horse. The beast reared up, its hair on fire. Sir Raynald leaped from the saddle at the last moment, avoiding damage as his mount fell, crashing to the ground. The horse cried out in pain, but the knight ignored it, racing towards his prey on foot, still gripping his sword.

  Athgar picked up a discarded shield and advanced, ready to fight to his last breath. Around them, the fighting had devolved into individual clashes almost as if the Gods themselves had selected pairs of enemies to settle their scores.

  Sir Raynald attacked first, a powerful strike that smashed against Athgar's shield with a dull thud. Athgar countered with a blow of his flaming axe, taking the knight on his plate-covered arm, but it merely glanced off and sent sparks flying.

  Raynald countered, stabbing out with the tip of his sword. The Therengian jumped back, but still, the blade bit, drawing blood, yet thankfully doing little real damage. The knight pressed his attack, stamping forward and slashing at his opponent's legs.

  Athgar continued backing up, overwhelmed by the onslaught. Sir Raynald was a knight, with a lifetime of training to back up his assault. What did Athgar have? Momentarily distracted by his doubts, he tripped over a body and fell to the ground.

  Sir Raynald loomed over him. Athgar thrust out his hand, frantically sending out a streak of fire that missed his target but caused the knight to back up, giving the Fire Mage time to recover.

  "Give up," called out Sir Raynald. "You know you won't defeat me."

  "I can't," replied Athgar. "To do so would sacrifice my people. Would you do any less for yours?"

  Raynald paused, looking at the battle raging around them. Without their leader, the fight had gone out of the duke's men. First, it was only a few, those nearest to their fallen lord, but as word spread, so, too, did their panic. Men began running away, clearing the way for the Therengians to advance.

  Athgar stood, waiting for Raynald's attack. The knight stared back, indecision on his face, for it was now clear that the army was disintegrating. He was struggling to come to grips with this when an arrow flew out of nowhere, taking him in the arm, then Athgar was there knocking his sword aside. Raynald tried to draw his
dagger, but a kick from his adversary sent him onto his back.

  Athgar stood over him, his axe raised for the killing blow.

  "I surrender," called out Sir Raynald. "I ask for quarter."

  "Why should I let you live?" demanded Athgar. "You have come to destroy us."

  Sir Raynald released his dagger. "Do as you must," he said, "but know if you let me live, I shall never again take up arms against your people."

  "What of your oath to your duke?"

  "Look around you," said the knight. "You have destroyed his army. Only the Church stands in your way of total victory."

  Counterattack

  Autumn 1104 SR

  * * *

  The duke's forces had begun their rout, fleeing the scene of carnage. Had they known how weak their foe was, they could have easily smashed them, but with the death of their leader, the fight went out of them. They raced north in a panic, their enemy at their heels.

  Father General Hargild was waiting, ready to release the superior power of the Temple Knights, but with his overconfidence, he had brought them up close to the lines of battle. Now, with the army retreating, men were streaming past the horsemen, clogging the field, and making a charge impossible. He looked west with the idea of flanking the masses before him, but a large number of Orcs emerged from the trees, driving even more of the duke's men before them.

  East looked promising, but then another horde of greenskins rushed forth, stopping to loose arrows as they ran. The armour of the Temple Knights was the best on the Continent, but the enemy targeted their horses, the arrows digging deep into flesh.

  Then his eyes caught a glimpse of the great beasts heading his way. Father General Hargild was a brave man, but the sight of these unnatural brutes charging towards him turned him pale. They closed at an impossible speed, crashing into his men with a booming crescendo.

  The Temple Knights of Saint Cunar were the finest warriors in the civilized world. They could be counted on to defeat any enemy in the Petty Kingdoms, yet these strange creatures were more than just mounts; they dug in with tusks and razor-sharp teeth, tearing their way through the Church lines.

  With many of their horses down and caught in the press of a retreating army, there was little they could do. They fought back as best they could, but the swords and axes of knights were of little use against the thick hides of the tuskers.

  Laruhk struck out with his spear, taking a knight in the chest. With the added force of his tusker behind his thrust, the tip easily penetrated the plate armour, but as he rode past, he was forced to release his grip or be pulled from the beast's back.

  His eyes darted around, spotting the other riders. The tuskers ran as a herd, plowing through the knights as if they were little more than blades of grass. Those who weren't trampled to death were torn asunder by the massive teeth of the creatures.

  Laruhk watched as one of his riders went down, his mount punctured by a well-placed lance. A knight rushed forward ready to finish off his foe, but an arrow from Durgash took him in the neck, and he fell to the ground, unmoving.

  Shaluhk spotted her chance. In the wake of the tusker charge, the Temple Knights were staggering around, disoriented by the fury of the impact. Closing her eyes, she called upon all the power she could summon. It was a difficult spell, one she had never before attempted, but she knew, in her heart, now was the time to act. The magic surged through her as she intoned the words, struggling to maintain her balance under the onslaught of mystical forces. As she released the spell, small white particles shot from her hands to land just a stone's throw in front of her, quickly sinking into the ground.

  Moments later, the particles expanded, growing into columns of mist before they slowly coalesced, forming into images of Orcs. These were no hunters, but Orc warriors, armed in ancient armour, the likes of which the world had not seen for centuries. When they looked at her with lifeless eyes, she pointed at the great battle before her.

  As one, they turned, letting loose with a keening sound that shook her to her very bones, and then they were rushing forward with spears and swords, tearing across the ground in a mad dash to engage the enemy.

  The warhorses of the knights, caught between the vicious tuskers and the otherworldly images of the spirit warriors, panicked. The fear spread like a wildfire, and it was all the knights could do to save themselves from being trampled to death by their own horses. Many of the Temple Knights abandoned their mounts, eager to take up arms against their foe, while others were carried from the field as their horses bolted off in terror.

  Kargen blocked a sword, then struck out in retaliation, his axe biting deeply into the knight's forearm, cutting through the metal and down into the bone. The man screamed out in pain, but the Orc just pushed him out of the way with his shield. Kargen took another step, calling out a challenge, but the enemy was retreating. The great chief could not understand why, and then a chill fell over him as wispy shapes surged past. He had a brief glimpse of the ghostly figure of an Orc warrior dressed in some type of scale armour, and then more appeared. All he could do was watch in fascination as these ancient warriors smashed into the enemy, leaving a trail of death and destruction in their wake.

  Kargen looked around, orienting himself, only to spot Shaluhk amongst the wounded, barely able to stand. He rushed to her, catching her just as she fell.

  "Shaluhk!" he called out. "Are you hurt?"

  "No," she replied, "but I have exhausted my strength. It took all I had to cast that spell."

  He looked into the distance where the melee still raged. "What did you do?"

  "I summoned ancient warriors to do my bidding."

  "Wherever did you learn such a thing?"

  "I did not," Shaluhk replied, "but Khurlig used her powers to possess me back in Ord-Kurgad. It seems when Uhdrig drove her from my body, some of her memories remained."

  "You must rest."

  "I can not, for to do so would release the conjured warriors from the physical world."

  "Release them, how?" asked Kargen.

  "They would return to the realm of spirits. I must remain awake long enough to keep them here, but I am exhausted."

  "Then let me share your burden."

  "That is very sweet of you," said Shaluhk, "but how would you do such a thing? You are no shaman."

  "No," he agreed, "but while I still have strength, I will not see you struggle. I shall carry you."

  Kargen lifted her, his arms beneath her knees and back. He took a couple of steps, then adjusted his hold slightly. "There," he said. "Now we are together once again."

  "As we should be."

  Natalia watched Laruhk's forces as they tore through the enemy formation. From her vantage point, it was a remarkable sight as if a shark had just swum through a school of fish. Riderless horses began rushing northward, eager to escape the ferocious tusks of the great beasts.

  She looked to the east where the warbows of the Red Hand were keeping up a steady stream of arrows, picking off those who survived the initial onslaught. Even from this distance, she could make out Shaluhk. The Orc was invoking her magic, and Natalia briefly wondered what spell she might be utilizing, for the shamaness was a healer, not a warrior. To the Water Mage's surprise, ghostly warriors materialized out of thin air.

  She looked at Voruhn to see her staring off in the same direction. "What spell is that?" Natalia asked.

  "Warriors of the past," replied the shamaness, "though she must be powerful indeed to call on such spirits."

  "I've never heard of it."

  "Nor should you have," said the Orc. "It is an ancient spell, calling forth our Ancestors from the times of the great cities."

  "I thought Orcs were hunters, not warriors."

  "And so we are, these days, but in ancient times, we prided ourselves on our martial prowess. It remained so for many generations until the Elves put an end to such things."

  "How long will they remain amongst the living?" asked Natalia.

  "Only as long as Shaluhk
can maintain her concentration. It takes great effort."

  They watched in silence as the spirits raced into battle, sweeping aside their foes. Natalia saw an ancient warrior destroyed, its physical form dissipating like so much dust.

  "I don't understand," she said. "How can a spirit die?"

  "The magic gives them a physical form. If that form is disrupted, then the spirit is freed. They are not ghosts, at least not in the traditional sense, but rather a physical manifestation of their original life. How else would they be able to fight?"

  "I hadn't thought of it that way. Is this a common tactic amongst your people?"

  Voruhn turned to look at her. "They are your people too, Nat-Alia, for you are a member of the Red Hand, are you not?"

  "I am, and proud to be so, but you still haven't answered my question."

  Voruhn smiled. "I have never heard of such a spell being used before."

  "And yet you know of it."

  "I do, but I suspect that has more to do with my possession at the hands of Khurlig. It looks like we may have unlocked ancient knowledge as a result of her interference. Perhaps it is the will of the Ancestors."

  "The Ancestors advise," cautioned Natalia. "They do not control."

  "You are right, but you can not deny it is to our advantage."

  "Do you think that's why you can speak our tongue?"

  "I had not thought of that," answered Voruhn. "It is a gift that keeps on giving."

  They turned their attention to the north once more, where the rest of the duke's warriors were now surrendering, throwing down their weapons, and begging for mercy. When Natalia finally spotted Athgar, her heart skipped a beat, for he was up and walking amongst the wounded alongside a familiar-looking face, that of Sir Raynald.